Chapter Text
Snow. Thick flakes of snow, hurling together and falling like feathers. The cold is coating the forest floor like a winding sheet. Everything is quiet beneath the snow. Everything seems small. Even the towering pines shrink under the weight of the cold covers. They melt together, becoming nothing more than a white hurdle in the sea of snow. It's compact. Cozy. And in any other circumstance, rather pretty.
However, "pretty" isn't present in the thoughts of current Scott. The words "inconvenient" and "cold" comes to mind more easily. At least they would, if Scott could bring himself to focus on anything besides steadying his breathing.
It comes out in raspy pants, but he keeps the rhythm somewhat steady.
He keeps one hand tight around his left shoulder, nursing a bad wound from a few days ago. He'd tried to bandage it while it was still fresh, but his hasted attempt at first aid was no match for the weather. What he held onto was barely scraps of a bandage. At least he'd stopped the bleeding. At least it stopped the dogs from tracking him.
His other hand is resting on this weapon, ready to strike if need be. Occasionally it drops down to fickle with a belt-strap, the motoric motion helping with the rhythm.
One step. Two steps. One step. Two steps.
He has to keep the rhythm going, has to keep his breathing steady. A simple slip up would toss him off balance, and honestly? Chances are, if he first falls, he wouldn't be able to stand up again. The man is running on pure pattern and willpower.
One step. Two steps.
The wind is picking up, and he feels the snow whipping at his ankles. His footsteps are barely visible, washed away almost instantly by the strong wind.
One step. Two step.
It's quiet. Too quiet. The snow muffles every sound, even the sound of his own footsteps. It's not right, it's dangerous, it's wrong. What if someone's following him? What if someone's watching him right now, waiting for the right moment to strike? He needs his hearing, why is it so quiet?
One step. Two step. Breathe.
Right. His breath. He can hear his breath.
One step. Two step.
Back into rhythm. One step for every breath.
The scenery that stretches out in front of him curves as he bypasses a large oak. He watches as the vegetation thin out to reveal a clearing. Hm. It would be lying to say that the open stretch didn't tempt him, especially when he sees how far he would have to go to bypass it. Still, it's almost like he can hear his fellow soldiers scolding him for taking such a risk. Scott sighs. Cover it is.
One step. THUD.
And then he slips. He's deep in the snow, and he comes to realize that he was right. He can't get up. One knee is buried in the powder, the other trembles as he struggles to keep it from buckling under him. He's possibly crying, everything is unclear at the moment. All he knows is that he's cold and so, so tired.
The sound of footsteps alerts him. The adrenaline works like a defibrillator. In merely seconds, he's up, and bolting for cover under the nearest tree.
Instinctively he goes to wield his weapon, scanning his surroundings for the source of the sound. It doesn't take long to find it, seeing as the source in question stands out like blood-splatter in the snow. Quite literally, Scott realizes, when he recognizes the all too familiar red poncho. "Grian!"
He practically leaps at the other solider, who mirrors his own bewilderness.
"Scott?!" Grian yelps, "God, where have you-" He pulls away, shaking his head. "It's been days!"
Scott grabs a hold on the neck of his poncho, afraid his knees might buckle if he tries standing on his own. "I-" He opens his mouth to explain, but the tremble in his voice, accompanied with a sudden dizziness makes him stop in his tracks. Grian is quick to steady him, helping the other solider sit down, before handing him a thermos. "Drink. You need the warmth." When Scott answers by cautiously scanning the area, the thermos is nudged towards him. Grian's smile is as comforting as it can get. "It's fine. We've got time."
With shaking finger, Scott unscrews the lid to find it filled to the brim with tea. He tries a tiny gulp, that quickly turns into a bigger one, then two, then three. It's lukewarm, and as far from quality that you can get, but he savors it like a life source. "There was an ambush", he begins.
"I got ambushed on my way over to our meeting place. Dogwarts soldiers, three of 'em. Didn't want to lead them to you, so I ran."
"You've been running for six days?"
Scott shakes his head. "I manged to shake them off by the end of the day." He takes another sip as he sheepishly continues, "But then i kinda got lost for the next two, spent about a day figuring out the right direction," he hands Grian the thermos. "…and now I'm here."
Grian takes a sip of his own before screwing the lid back on. "I hope it didn't cause too much trouble, me not being there for the planned attack", Scott says. He feels his conscience brewing, especially as he sees Grian's demeanor darken. It's almost like a winch, over in less than a second, before he plainly replies, "We manged to fend them off." It feels like a lie of omission, but Scott takes it.
At least he smiles when looking back at Scott. "I'm just happy I found you." He returns the smile wholeheartedly. "It's good to see you too."
But if Grian was here, then… "What about the others?", Scott croaks. Grian doesn't answer, just shakes his head before turning around warily. It could be mistaken for simple antsy-ness, but Scott doesn't miss the sharp inhale covering the avoidance of the question.
"Grian", Scott begins, interrupted by a nod from Grian. "Walk and talk", he murmurs as they begin to walk.
They end up crossing the clearing, not being as careful now that they're two. Contrary to his previous statement, Grian remains quiet, and Scott feels himself growing more worried by the second. "Where are they", he pushes, irritation tugging at his words.
Grian's got his back turned, but Scott can see him sigh. "Scar and I set up a temporary base not so far away. We're heading that way."
"And what about Jimmy?", Scott asks, almost instantly.
He watches as Grian's shoulders tense up, and stops dead in his tracks.
They're in the middle of the clearing. The wind has picked up again, the intensity making the two figures shake like young aspen trees. In contrast, Scott's voice is steady. "Where's Jimmy?"
Grian still doesn't move to face him, which in reality tells Scott everything he needs to know. But he still hasn't said anything. He won't believe it unless he says something. Scott grabs him by the shoulder, and Oh. The look of pure misery shown on Grian's face might as well have him fold right then and there.
"I was hoping we'd get back to camp before-" and Scott watches as Grian's eyes widen.
He doesn't think to look behind him, because why should he? To focused on Grian and the voice inside him telling him that Jimmy is gone, and there's nothing he can do about it.
The axe hits his head and he shuts down on impact.
Everything is quiet. Everything is heavy. His back, his lungs, his bones, his eyelids, it's all heavy. Then, in the distance, he's not sure where, he can hear voices. Muted voices, like their source lays buried in the ground. But they're quick to quietly ebb out, like they never existed in the first place. Scott's left alone, heavy and restless.
When he finally manages to pry his eyes open, he's greeted by pure white. The weather must have died down, because there's an absence of snow hitting his face. That might just be the cold getting to him, his brain adds in afterthought. He feels a bit lightheaded, and has already lost the sensation of his fingertips, so he won't put it past him that the frostbite might have gotten to his face too. Either way, the sky above him seems calm and pale. Almost like the sky was made of white cardboard.
The distant voices make their return, still strange and muffled. But now that his eyes are open, he can much more easily locate their source. They're closer than he thought, just a few meters to the left maybe.
He can't seem to move his head, it's too heavy, but if he concentrates, he might be able to shift his glance towards the people.
He takes a breath, eyes fluttering shut for what he swears is just a second. When they open, he's able to make out two figures to his left. They're dressed in marine blue get-ups, the shorter one, a brown haired girl with large glasses, pairs it with a platinum white coat. It's certainly a choice.
They seem to keep their voices annoyingly low, Scott only managing to make out a few words, non of them seemingly relevant. The girl nods, pulling out her clipboard, inspecting it intensely. The other figure points to it, mumbling something incoherent, before turning away.
Content with the tiny piece of info he's gathered, Scott feels himself slip away, sleep tugging at his eyelids. But just then, the figure moves his head, eyeing him with brown eyes. He's tall, blond and with those brown eyes, he reminds him an awful lot of-
"Jimmy", Scott mutters. It's meant to come out more as a question, but his mouth is all mushy, making it come out all wrong. That damn snow must have made his tongue swell up or something. He doubts any of them can even hear him. Scott watches as the guy fades from view.
He lets himself close his eyes.
At least he knows that he's conscious. He notices that the girl with the glasses finishes her scribing, as she moves closer to his side. Through his lashes, he sees her standing over him, almost like an inspection of some sort. It's kinda creepy, so Scott tries to ease the tension by breaking into a smile. She drops her clipboard.
It makes a horrid metallic clank as it hits the…snow? Scott's not entirely sure at this point. He cringes at the sound. "Sorry"
"You're awake", she stupidly points out, voice barely above a whisper. Scott's about to hit her with some sort of witty comment, but finds himself too tired to say anything.
"You're awake!" she says, more excited this time, making Scott even more confused. The confusion doesn't really help with his tiredness, as he feels himself slipping under. The girl picking up her clipboard and dashing out the room is the last think he sees before he slips out of consciousness.